


box twelve

by birdhymns



Category: Pokemon GO
Genre: Drabble Collection, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdhymns/pseuds/birdhymns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flash fiction collection for any small ideas I get/am prompted for on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You should get up and walk around, y'know.”

Blanche barely glances away from their screen, the only other acknowledgment of Candela’s presence a tilt of their head, their cheek resting against Candela’s knuckles for a moment. “We’ve been walking for the better part of the afternoon.”

“And then you decided to work for how long after that?” Candela pauses, looking Blanche up and down. “Did you even take your binder off?”

“…No? Ow!” They give Candela a mulish look, rubbing their ear. “There’s no reason to do that.”

“Yes, there is. Now strip. Strip!” And she tugs at Blanche’s jacket.

There’s a clatter, and they turn together to find Spark wide-eyed at the door.

He slowly raises one hand in greeting, a weak grin crossing his face. “So you two, huh?”

“No! Well, yes, but–” Blanche heaves a sigh before they push themselves out of their seat, hands already moving as they head to their room. “Candela, you’re explaining.”


	2. Chapter 2

Blanche keeps pushing their hair out of their face and it makes you want to _die_.

Okay, slight, _slight_ exaggeration. But it falls back every time they lean over to check the newest bits of data, and you’re having a hard time looking away and taking care of your own stuff, because every time they push it away they look ready for a photoshoot or some other… annoyingly attractive bull.

It ends up that you only manage to get through a single page and watching Blanche do it again before pushing yourself up and stomping over to them.

They turn about with a bemused expression on their face. “Candela, what is i–?”

You cut them off with your mouth against theirs and your fingers curled into the strands at the nape of their neck. And finally, finally, you can breathe.


	3. Chapter 3

Blanche has always thought that Candela’s collar looked exceptionally warm.

It’s a thought that comes now and then, not regular like the tide, but often enough that Blanche recognises its coming, the factors leading to it. Hot days, or cold ones, Candela tugging at her collar to get some air moving or to pull it even closer to her skin, respectively–

–so Blanche knows the thought, is the point.

So it catches them by surprise too when their hand ends up against Candela’s neck after one chilling walk, jumping when Candela yelps and stiffens up. “Jesus Blanche!”

They blink twice, before sticking their hands back into their coat. “Sorry, I. Wasn’t thinking.”

Candela motions though, beckoning.“Clearly. Give ‘em here.” When Blanche obeys after a moment’s hesitation, she claps one hand between her own. “Did you stick your hands in a freezer or something?”

“No. It’s just windy out.”

“I keep telling you, you need better gloves.” Candela glowers, before turning their attention to Blanche’s other hand. “Well, just give me some warning next time you decide to stick those ice blocks you call fingers against my neck.”

Blanche’s surprise is quiet, but it permeates their entire being, wrapping them from head to toe. “You’ll let me do it again?”

“So long as you give me a couple seconds to prepare.” She grins. “Might have some trouble defrosting me if you don’t, and only you’re around.”

Blanche tugs Candela’s ear in a warning, even as a low laugh rolls out of their mouth.

Candela just beams.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing stretch of ‘you’re a werewolf and it’s the cutest thing when I throw something and you have to restrain yourself from going after it’.

There are certain perks to a werewolf friend.

Blanche is wonderful to have around when something needs moving. And getting through knee-high snow is so much easier on their back.

But in your opinion, the best perks are the ones they’re not entirely in control of. Like their expression right now.

It’s gone as quickly as it comes, though, and their hands resume typing once more. The only sign of anything happening is a no-nonsense look to you. “Candela, throw it away properly.”

“Ah, yeah, sure.” Swinging yourself out of your seat, you take the few steps needed and scoop up the crumpled ball of plastic wrap, tossing it once more towards the trashcan. 

And there it is again, the slight lift of their chin, their eyes tracking the path through the air.

You contemplate teasing. It would be so _fun_ , seeing their face twist as they deny, realise, flush. But then they would stop, or at least do their best to. So you turn to your own work.

You might just tease about finding them curled on your doorstep instead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thegreatersea-Candela’s the one to overwork themselves for a change, and Blanche takes care of them?

“You did not. Spend the entire night outside, in freezing rain, searching for an _Egg_.”

You would have denied it. Of course you hadn’t, it’d been only a few hours past sunset, and that was starting to come earlier, and you’d holed up in a shelter with your Flareon for the rest of it. 

But you sneezed, and any chance of defense was blown away by the vaguely murderous and very irate look on Blanche’s face. “You’re going to be the death of me,” they mutter, before grabbing a fistful of your collar and dragging you into the kitchen. You bob in their wake. 

It’d be funny, if it wasn’t mortifying as hell.

They toss you a container of Spark’s leftover pierogi (”Heat that up,” in the most no-nonsense voice you know aside from Mum’s), and while you do, they start warming a mix of milk, sugar, and cocoa on the stove.

“’s that for?”

“Isn’t it obvious? For _you._  Hot chocolate.”

You blink, raise an eyebrow. “You. Know how to make hot chocolate?”

They give you another Look, and you note that saying whatever jumps to mind right now might not be good for long-term survival. “I’ve lived this long, Candela. I think I know how to boil something.” They turn back to the saucepan.

Somehow it rings even more sharply in your ears. It gives you pause. You hold back any further commentary on their culinary skills to watch. Your eyes follow the lines of wayward strands of hair that have fallen out of Blanche’s usual ponytail, the singular one of slumped shoulders as they stir, and parallel etchings in their brow that you’re tempted to rub away, as they bring you the biggest mug in the cupboard.

“You were worried,” you say, and it comes with a quiet surprise that binds Blanche’s hand to the mug’s handle even as you cradle it.

And they look at you, and look, and you’re aware then of something unfamiliar lurking at the bottom of their eyes, bubbling up to the surface; part of you thinks that in a different sea you might be able to put a name to it, in the fire of your own mind  _you know this_ –

–and then they break away, pulling out a seat for themselves, sipping their own drink before answering.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things said when drunk-yashkonu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A first part...

“I’m sorry. I thought I called Spark.”

“You did.” You take a moment to reposition yourself to get a better hold on Blanche. “But he was busy, so he called me.”

“Oh.” You manage to get Blanche buckled up before they speak again, face for once easy to read. “I’m sorry.”

“Eh.” You shrug and crack the best grin you can muster. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t fall asleep at the bar. Imagine what all the nice potential dates would think.”

“It shouldn’t fall to you.” Their eyes are surprisingly focused, and there’s an open sorrow to their expression that digs into a still-healing wound. Aches. “You deserve better than me. Taking care of me.”

Unhappiness flares in your chest, and your fingers curl a little tighter around the edge of the door as you stare. “You were more than enough. You are. You just-you always think you’re going to fail.”

But they shake their head, expression still cast in resignation. “I don’t fight with Spark like I do with you. You don’t either.” They raise one hand and press it against your cheek. You have to swallow any retort, and it buries itself under your breastbone. They would have never done it sober, looked at you as softly as they are, as openly, and let the words go.

“There are always better people than me.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things said after a kiss-thegreatersea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and its second.

“I don’t care, okay?”

You blink, thrown by both Candela’s words and the lingering sensation of her lips against yours. “What?”

“I don’t care if there’s ‘better people’,” she says, and your stomach bottoms out. So it hadn’t been dreamed. You knew you shouldn’t have drank so much last night.

But her hands stay at your back and keep you close as she looks at you, her want and love and hurt easy to see. Unfailingly honest, as always. “There always is. You suck at reaching out for help, I’ve got the shortest fuse out of all of us–” She swallows. “If we fell apart at the first fight, we wouldn’t have made it past second grade.”

A laugh leaves you, despite the situation. “Kindergarten, more like.”

She mirrors your amusement in a quick smile before turning serious. “We’ve gotten through more than we haven’t, B. Your worst days, and mine." There’s a hesitance to her, but it lasts only a moment, before she presses her forehead against yours, the gesture familiar and warm.

Some part of you’s decided, even before she speaks.

"If you want… we can get through this too.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But I dared not move/the pretty sleeping one

Candela remembers just why she picked her room when the sun wakes her in Blanche’s at six.

She groans and draws her arm over her face instinctively, intent on salvaging a few more hours of rest. But she meets unexpected resistance, pressure pinning her arm to the bed, and it’s then that she realises Blanche is close, asleep, and far more peaceful looking than usual.

Candela shakes her head in disbelief. “Now that, that’s just unfair.” She does not jostle them awake to free her arm though. Instead she pulls her hand in, as slowly and smoothly as she can manage.

But Blanche still stirs; their legs coming up, in, and they hold Candela in an airy grip until their breathing resumes its steady pattern. A couple stray strands fall into their face. Candela follows the line of them, then those that break in swirls on Blanche’s shoulders, neck, molding themselves.

Temptation presents itself to Candela then. Wake Blanche, not only to free her arm, but to see just what expression they would have under that layer of sleep. She grins, her fingers flex… 

…and relax. She lets the strength in her arm slip away. The circles under Blanche’s eyes are impossible to miss, and Candela knows, just as she knows that it will be some time before she sees Blanche like this, that it will be another long night for them. They _apparently_ need less to get by.

“You’re lucky you’re easy on the eyes,” Candela finally says, needing the last word in a one-sided argument. Then she settles down to enjoy the peace beside her.

And Blanche simply is, within the quietest dream of contentment.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Candela grilling mob boss Blanche (slightly modified) in a new AU my friends kc5rings and overachieversloth are entirely responsible for. :P

When Candela makes herself known, Blanche stirs in their seat, an eyebrow raised. “Detective, what a surprise. I was expecting Spark.”

“He’s got his hands tied up with another matter… unfortunately for both of us.” Candela takes another swig of coffee from her thermos, grimaces–it’s long gone cold–before sliding a picture over to Blanche. “Recognise them?”

Blanche spares the photo a glance. “Perhaps. I’m honoured you think I would.”

Patience already thin, Candela barely keeps from snapping back. Settling into Blanche’s rhythm would mean circling around answers for long, long minutes, and she has no time for it. So taking a breath in and counting to ten in her head, Candela answers impassively as she can. “Spark isn’t here because this guy shot him outside his apartment.”

Ever so slightly Blanche’s fingers curl, before they start drumming them against the table. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with his and your… pet project, Detective?”

“We don’t know.” Weary, Candela pulled out the second chair and sat in it with a sigh. “It’s not like we can ask the others about it, either.”

“You suspect someone… close might’ve had a hand in it.”

“If only it were one.”

“I did offer to take care of them for you, Detective.”

“Forgive me for not accepting the uncertain favours of a mob boss,” Candela mutters.

A huff and a tiny tug at the corner of their mouth, those are the only signs before Blanche’s usual gravity returns quickly. They tilt their head. “Then why are you here?”

“Because things have changed. If they’re actively going after me and Spark, I can’t not use the few edges I’ve got.”

“A practical choice. Very well then; I’ll will assist you.” There’s another glint of humour, this time in their eyes. “I’ll do my best to play by your rules.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gender werewolves Spark and Blanche dealing with the overlap of being werewolves and also trans?-yashkonu

Not for the first time, Spark wishes he had Blanche’s body.

It’s not that different from his, truthfully. But it’s enough to leave those envious curls in Spark’s chest when they meet new weres; they never pause on him but almost always on them. Oh, they almost always apologise once Blanche corrects in that quiet moment–and if not then, when Blanche growls low in their throat–but Spark can’t help but wish he was just a little larger as a wolf, canines a little longer, just enough to get that pause too–

At some point he starts going to these meets with clawless hands and feet, clothes and skin. It’s slower going, especially when the snow crusts over and every step in boots sends him through, but at least he can wear his binder that way.

Blanche notices. Of course they do.

They pull him aside when they’ve finished showing visitors where they’ll stay, and Spark shifts on his feet, knowing before Blanche opens their mouth where this will go. So he cuts them off with a shrug and the best grin he has. “Isn’t much we can do about it, y'know? More than what you’re already doing.”

“Still.” There’s open frustration on Blanche’s face, muddled with unhappiness, and Spark moves unconsciously to bump their foreheads together, his arms about their shoulders. Blanche’s eyes stay on him, their voice a whisper. “Still.”

And with the same unrest sitting on him, Spark has no reply.


	11. Valentine's Gays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for prompts: Blanche's favourite book, a day in the lab, and cute Valentine's Day gift for 'em.

There were moments that required a watchful eye and a steady hand, and any distractions ushered away, to ensure the proper amount of DNA and primer was pipetted, to watch fluid move slowly through gel— 

—and then there was minding the centrifuges for hours, because they couldn’t be left alone for too long at the higher speeds. Unless one didn’t mind them sounding ready to fly apart.

But Blanche did, their researchers did, and their Pokémon’s leeriness did nothing to assuage their worries that they wouldn’t arrive to fire and ash in the morning. So when they needed overnight use, Blanche pulled rank and sent all their lab assistants to their quarters. After all, it wasn’t like they all needed to stay awake for something that literally only required the touch of a button to fix, and a note in the appropriate observations folder.

Today only those who’d needed to come had done so, aside from Blanche, and they were happy to go. Blanche didn’t begrudge them their eagerness. Cutting out some time to be with loved ones, or simply enjoying what the day had to offer was not a bad thing. Everyone had their own way of rest. That included Blanche.

Normally on these longer lab nights they ended up dimming the lights to a dull orange, and let their eyes rest in the near-dark. But drowsier than usual, they chose to wash their face and pull out the book of Johto myths Spark’d gotten them.

They were a quarter of the way when a soft cry drew their attention up and a frown to their face. Familiar, but it took a second to catalogue properly, because how could’ve one—

Two Eevees bound into view; tails flicked in obvious interest when they saw Blanche. Heedless of lab safety, they scampered in.

Candela came trot in on their heels, and Blanche sighed, let pages fall shut around a finger. “I should’ve known it was you.”

“Yeah, consider yourself lucky.” She shook a paper bag. “Brought you a very late but charitably warmed dinner.”

“I can’t eat in the lab.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then come out here, nerd. When was the last time you stepped out to actually do that?”

Blanche chose silence on the matter to maintain some measure of dignity, not wanting to concede to her point. Instead they asked, “Did you come up to just give me this?”

“Nope.” She cocked her head and gave Blanche a grin, and even before the words came out, Blanche braced themselves. “I was thinking we could have a nice Eevee-ning together.”

Blanche groaned.

They still smiled anyway.


End file.
